


i built a legacy

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [8]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, M/M, Sick Jensen, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: “I’m not missing the fucking playoffs. And I want the little guy,” Jensen says, “to be able to see his daddy play.”Jensen's supposed to be on bedrest.





	i built a legacy

“I swear to God, Chad, if you don’t help me, I will never, ever, let you see your godson.”

Chad looks disturbed--appalled is a better word for it, but Jensen doesn’t really give a shit, considering that he’s seven months pregnant and he looks like a damn barn.

He hasn’t been strictly permitted to leave the house for two months, but that doesn’t mean he’s actually adhered to that rule.

His nurse’s name is Al, and she follows him with all of the tenacity of the toddler he’ll soon have to raise. 

She’d given up trying to cajole him into doing anything, and Jensen likes that just fine. 

What she wasn’t apparently prepared for, was meeting Jared. Jensen snorts just remembering Jared’s arrival home, in a decently foul mood after a resounding win.

Jensen knows that was mostly his fault, especially because Jeff had hinted that Jensen  _ might _ be less medically stable than previously mentioned.

Jensen’s used to the crash of the door against the opposite wall, but Al yelps--mouth quickly coming up to cover her mouth.

“Jensen! Jensen fucking Padalecki!” 

Honestly, Jensen just thinks Jared likes reminding them all that Jensen’s got his name now, but he knows better than to mention that in this moment.

He doesn’t even realize he’s grinning like a loon until Al glances down at him. Her hands are trembling as she unwraps the BP cuff--he’s on his third vitals check of the day.

“Is that your husband?” She hisses, glances fearfully at the door. Jensen rubs at the underside of his stomach in discomfort.

“Huh? Yes, that’s Jay,” Jensen says, squirming for better leverage on the mountain of pillows JD keeps bringing. 

“Is he--” Al tries, going red, “do you want me to tell him you’re resting? So he doesn’t bother you?”

Jensen’s eyes well up with the lumbar pain, and he sobs out a hot breath. “W--what? No. No, I wanna see him,” he begs, and he knows he’s whining right now but it can’t be helped, and Al looks petrified when Jared’s lumbering footsteps finally reach the bedroom.

Jared tosses the door wide without preamble, but he seems taken aback by all of the equipment, and not least of all, Al’s presence.

Jared’s hair is just-shower damp; he’s in a GS t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination, and matching athletic shorts.

Al looks from one to the other, and Jensen would laugh at how comprehension dawns, but Jared’s focused every last iota of attention on him, and it warms him up, inside out.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jared asks, but he doesn’t send a glance in Al’s direction.

It’s a good thing, because Al doesn’t even bother attempting to answer, not when Jared stalks up next to the bed and dwarfs Al with sheer size.

This time, she does squeak.

Jared drops down to knees, hands inappropriately clumsy as he runs both over Jensen’s cheeks, followed by sternum, follows the IV drip down his right forearm. 

“Just a check-up,” Jared says, and Jensen notes the tremble to his voice. 

“It was,” Jensen admits, just as quietly, and Al seems to collect herself, clears her throat quietly as she exits the room.

“What kind of check-up leaves you on bedrest,” Jared hisses, but Jensen’s losing feeling in both hands, Jared’s squeezing them so tightly.

“I may--or m-may not have felt a little. I felt kinda shitty, the week you flew to Cleveland,” Jensen sighs, and immediately winces as the fine bones in his hand grind together. 

“JD took me to the doctor--my regular wasn’t available on short notice,” Jensen says, and Jared laughs, terse.

“He damn well should’ve been. I pay him enough fucking money to be.” Jensen knows better than to prod at his husband when he’s this visibly anxious, so he holds his tongue, keeps his head bowed. 

“I was gonna tell you when you came home. It wasn’t a regular game,” Jensen says, and Jared grunts, conceding the point.

“How’s little man,” Jared says, and he tips his neck back just enough so that Jensen can catch sight of the dimples that first made him fall for the guy.

“He’s fine,” Jensen says happily, laughing softly as Jared removes the blanket and shoves Jensen’s sleep-shirt up underneath armpits.

Jared’s as possessive of his unborn son as he is with everything else in his life, and Jensen figures that he can put up with the coddling when Jared has to spend most weekends away from his family. 

Jensen blushes as Jared runs both tanned hands over the wide swell of his stomach, fingers so long that together, the digits span most of Jensen’s flesh.

He squirms under the scrutiny, and Jared takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, and Jensen guffaws, can’t help himself.

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen says, and Jared makes eye contact, burdensome and unmovable. 

“You are. You’re carrying my son, and you put up with my fucking--with my temper and my mood swings and you help make sure this world doesn’t just. Y’know, doesn’t chew me up and spit me out.” Jared scrubs one hand over his face and then gently repositions it on Jensen’s stomach.

“Jared,” Jensen sniffs--he’s gonna cry, no two ways about it, but Jared tips his chin back in order to kiss him, and it’s enough.

That’s all well and good, though, because Jared’s gonna go into cardiac arrest once he figures out what Jensen’s blackmailing Chad to do.

“It’s the playoffs,” Jensen says, tipping over onto his side in an effort to reach his shoelaces.

“I’m not missing the fucking playoffs. And I want the little guy,” Jensen says, “to be able to see his daddy play.”

“First off,” Chad says reasonably, as he bats Jensen’s hands away and laces up Jensen’s Jordans for him, “Lil Jay can’t see anything. He’s in a fucking cocoon.” 

Jensen grunts. Semantics.

“Secondly. There’s no way Jay’s not gonna see you at the game. You’re gonna be sitting in the box. The cameras are gonna eat you up.”

Chad leans back on his haunches as Jensen fiddles with his track pants. He’s wearing Jared’s jersey a whole size bigger than he’s ever worn before, and he feels fucking fat and swollen and he’s goddamn tired of seeing his husband on the TV more than he sees him in person, okay?

“I want to sit on the sidelines.” Jensen knows he sounds petulant, but he spent the last week fielding calls from the Tribune because he can’t really travel much anymore.

He’s got a kid coming down from UNC to interview, and his boss thinks it’ll make great press, obviously, seeing as Jared played there.

Jensen’s just agitated because he’s gonna have to tell his husband that he needs to do a photo-op with an up and coming kid who is probably getting plastered right now to the thought of meeting his idol.

Chad’s starting to look concerned, and Jensen realizes he hasn’t spoken in a few minutes.

“Chad. Please. Just get me there. I don’t feel like arguing with JD and Chris is on Jay’s side and I just want to see him.” Jensen wraps both arms around his middle and Chad groans as he pulls himself up to standing.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your big, sad-ass eyes. He’ll kill me, but I’ll do it.”

Jensen tries not to look too pleased with himself, but that’s the face he always makes when he needs to get his way, and it’s never failed.

Chad’s already muttering to himself as he leaves, and Jensen’s too calm because his heart skips a beat when Al storms in, arms crossed against her chest.

“You are not leaving this house. Mr. P will  _ murder  _ me. I’m too young to die.” Al scratches at blond curls and fixes Jensen with a glare this shade of violent.

Jensen sighs.

-

“I cannot believe we’re on a private jet. I can’t believe you own a private jet. I hooked you up to an NG feed on a  _ private jet. _ ” Al hasn’t stopped gushing since they left the tarmac, and Chad kicks his feet up on the empty seat before him.

“You do know Jay’s one of the highest paid players in the NBA right now, don’t you?” Chad’s head lolls to the left so he can meet Al’s gaze.

Al’s checking Jensen’s tube placement, and doesn’t answer.

“Can we take this out before we land,” Jensen asks, tugging forlornly on the tube they’ve shoved down his throat and into his stomach. “And Chad, shut up. Nobody wants to hear about that.”

Chad shrugs, Jensen can see it out of his peripheral.

“Not to brag on the dude, just saying. He can afford this.” Chad leans back, reaching for the bottle of champagne Jensen desperately wishes he could partake in. He’s not overfond of flying, and he’s thrown up twice since they took off.

Al’s feeding him manually, which sucks, but he knows he’s liable to vomit at the smell of anything at this point.

“Yes. We’ll remove it just before we land,” Al says, ignores Chad entirely, as any sane person should.

Jensen’s stomach gives a lurch, and he shudders before he realizes his kid is just kicking.

“Do you want me to clear the way for you, Jen?” Chad asks, uncharacteristically helpful. Some of that is probably due to the fact that Chad’s hammered, but still.

“That’d be good,” Jensen says, preemptively fatigued. He won’t be the one to admit that maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Jensen arches an eyebrow down at his stomach. “Behave.”

-

Jensen’s almost-jostled four times before they even reach the underground.

He’s smiling for the cameras but he’s grateful when Chad shoves a cap down over his hair and moves them along with a hand to his back.

“Excuse us! Excuse us! No questions! Mr. Padalecki is heavily pregnant and he’d like to rest, thanks!” Chad’s other hand is curled around Al’s and Jensen feels a deep pang of sympathy for how unprepared she is.

He remembers what a shock this was the first time, and Jared hadn’t even reached the pinnacle of his career yet.

Chad bulldozes them through, relentless and used to displays like this.

It’s not until security surrounds them that Jensen realizes his phone is ringing. He swipes to answer before thinking and gets the loudest earful from JD that he’s ever received in all his life.

“What the fucking hell were you thinking, Jensen?” JD is hollering, and Jensen’s reluctantly impressed--he didn’t think the guy had it in him for yelling.

“We’re playing the Trail Blazers,” Jensen says, sheepishly. “I don’t care if you’re playing the Cavs and the whole team is made up of LeBron James,” JD fires back, angrier than Jensen thought at first glance.

“Am I supposed to keep this from Jay? Cause right now, he’s looking at me scream on the phone and I’m sure he’s gonna wanna know what it’s all about.” JD pauses for air, and Chad takes him by the elbow, Al still shell-shocked behind them, and ushers him into the box.

“I’ll tell him,” Jensen placates, and JD grunts. “You made my boys look like idiots,” he adds, with less vitriol.

Jensen’s a bit pale and Al comes around to his other side, momentarily ignoring the glam of private seating. 

“Not my intention,” Jensen says, once more on the verge of tears. “Tell ‘em I’m sorry, and I’ll put in a good word, okay?”

JD is silent for a second, and Jensen can hear the squeak of shoes against the court. “Rest up, alright? Tell the little guy I said hey.”

Jensen laughs as JD hangs up, and Al is staring him down, something like anger in her gaze. 

“I need you sitting. You can stay and watch, but I need you basically resting, whole game.” Al looks a bit frantic, she’s around his age, and he doesn’t want to be that selfish bastard that drags everyone around just because he can.

Al can see his eyes widening--watering, to be honest, and she’s quick to shush him, clucking over him nervously.

“Ah, Jen, sweetheart. I’m not mad! This is cool as shit,” she bubbles, exuberant to the last. “I just care about you and that baby you won’t name,” she laughs, and Jensen swipes at his eyes. 

“And Mr. P loves you more than--than basketball. More than anything,” she adds softly, and Jensen grabs her by the hand as Dre’s wife approaches, holding a glass of something sparkling. She’s one of the nicest people Jensen’s ever met, and she winds an arm around his waist instantly, frowning at the sight of him.

“Hey, what’re you doing here? Jay was telling us that you’re on bedrest,” she admonishes, and Jensen smiles, conspiratorially.

“I want to surprise him,” Jensen says, “and I’ve got a bunch of deadlines to meet for work, so I’m pretty much going stir crazy.” Christine nods, running a hand through her hair. 

“Well, don’t overdo it, okay? You’re almost done,” she winks and Jensen waves a hand at her. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear. Go have fun,” he says, and she does, even though she keeps sending him glances like he’s gonna fall over at any second.

Al’s mouth is wide, and he’s surprised to notice she’s trembling. “That’s. That’s.” Jensen knocks foreheads with her, and his belly brushes against her flat one. “I need you to help me with one more thing,” he says, puts on his most pleading face.

“What.” Al says, warily, and Jensen looks around the room.

“Where’s Chad?”

-

Most people think that playing a professional sport is like getting paid to do what you love most in the world.

To a certain extent, that’s true. Jared gets to play against some of the best of the best, gets to stand on the same hallowed ground of his idols, (Jordan, fuck the world).

What they don’t realize is that it’s loud. It’s cacophonous and bright and he’s covered in sweat. He’s mostly dehydrated and the amount of Gatorade and water he imbibes in is ridiculous.

He’s not so out of it, though, to not realize that his husband has a team jacket on--and he’s definitely sitting on the sidelines next to a very shady-looking Chad, and a mostly-chagrined Al. He’s got maybe two seconds to take in this flash of skin, and then he’s running down court to lob a pass back to Curry.

He can hear Chad whooping from this far away and he rolls his eyes to high heaven. 

He’s gonna kill them all.

-

Heather Arnold pulls them together after the game, and her questions are almost overshadowed by the din in the arena.

Al is holding his hand, but she’s stepped just behind his back, fingers flexed so tightly that Jensen almost whimpers in pain on camera.

He’s got the other hand over top his baby swell, and he’s acutely conscious of the fact that this is his first time on camera with Jared since the pregnancy was announced.

Jared’s probably going to be pissed, but he’s clearly riding the high of yet another push to the Finals, and he holds Jensen close, swallowed up by his husband’s larger brawn.

“I know I’m not the only one who’s pleased to see you out with your husband, Jared,” she coos, all blonde and golden eyeshadow. 

Jensen’s practically bloated.

Jared’s nothing if not good at sensing Jensen’s moods, and he presses a deep kiss to Jensen’s temple, tucks his hair behind one ear.

“Jen came out to surprise me,” Jared admits, “almost cost me the game; I was so shocked.” Jared laughs and so does Heather and Jensen’s just feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Mr. Padalecki,” Heather says to him, good humor intact, “besides carrying the next inductee into either the NBA, or the WNBA,” she teases, prods, “you’ve been pumping out articles at a fairly regular rate, especially considering your condition.”

Jensen nods, nausea having passed. Jared’s arm is firm around his waist, and he’s practically facing the floor, as all basketball players end up doing in order to better hear reporters.

“What are your plans for life after baby?” Heather’s eyes are blown and Jensen can’t miss the frisson of laughter Jared makes when Heather finishes the question.

“W--well,” Jensen stutters, having never been all that fond of cameras, “I can assure you that I can type one-handed,” he jokes, and Jared snorts aloud, this time.

“If anything, it’s Jared you’re gonna have to watch out for,” Jensen says, and Green comes up on his other side, plants a huge kiss right on the crown of Jensen’s hair.

Jared knocks at his teammate in jest, and Al’s dislodged from his grip entirely. Jensen moves both hands to protect his stomach and glances up at Jared.

Jared looks down on him, brow furrowed, and Jensen gets the sense that something  _ intimate  _ has just passed between them--too vibrant for this area.

“It’s Jared,” Jensen continues, never removing his gaze from his husband, “he’s always wanted a little boy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> plying y'all with schmoop bc there be angst, next installment. please share your thoughts! i live for it!


End file.
